


Come Monday

by jackwabbit



Series: I Rang the Bell with My Heart in My Mouth [11]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Culmets - Freeform, Except he totally isn't, First Dates, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, M/M, Paul is a train wreck, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackwabbit/pseuds/jackwabbit
Summary: Season: Post-two, Pre-three. (Probably? Inter-seasonal speculation.)Spoilers: General Series Knowledge Through The End of Season Two.Summary: Hugh thought he knew everything there was to know about Paul. Turns out, not so much. (AKA, the first date – the second time around.)Notes: 1-Takes place immediately after my fic, “Euphoric.” 2-Days of the week are referenced many times in canon, so just go with me on it, alright? 3-Title from the Jimmy Buffett song of the same name, because Come Monday, it’ll be alright.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: I Rang the Bell with My Heart in My Mouth [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904764
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Come Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Stories in this series originally written and posted as inspiration struck. Later reordered into chronological order. See notes above for more information on time frame/related stories.
> 
> And finally, for Peter – the day we cooked the children and ate the babies is a cherished memory. We miss you, big guy.

Paul’s good mood lasted just long enough for him to reach his quarters.

But when the doors slid shut behind him and he looked around, he panicked.

The place was a mess.

But that wasn’t the big problem.

The big problem was the ghosts. They were everywhere – there by the counter, where Hugh had sustained the most embarrassing of injuries; in front of the sinks, where they’d spent so many nights before bed; all around the couch, where their last dinner had gone so disastrously wrong.

“What was I thinking?” Paul said aloud, shaking his head with wide eyes as he took in the scene.

 _No_ , he thought, _Hugh can’t come here._

He thought about cancelling. He thought about delaying. He considered saying work ran late – for about a nanosecond.

But no. Not this time. He was getting the second chance he’d so desperately wanted. He wasn’t about to screw it up if he could help it.

So he grabbed his PADD and checked the rec room schedule.

There. Number five. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it could work.

It had to. It was the only one free. Granted, it meant the evening would take some creative navigating, but Paul had literally gotten good at that lately, so he figured he could handle it in the metaphorical sense. So he booked it and fired off a message to Hugh asking to move the location of their dinner before he could change his mind.

As soon as he hit ‘send’, the anxiety hit. He felt his heart and respiratory rates increase. Would Hugh agree? Would he ask too many questions Paul didn’t exactly have answers to? Would he insist on the original arrangement? Or cancel outright? Paul’s mind imagined every negative scenario, each worse than the last. Paul dropped onto the couch, tossed his PADD to the side, and leaned his head back against the cushion with a huge sigh. In his current state, he wondered if Hugh would even respond.

But a moment later, his PADD vibrated with an incoming message alert. Paul jumped to grab it and read Hugh’s response.

 _I’m intrigued. See you there_ , it read.

Paul took a deep breath then let it out as his angst-filled internal monologue decreased to a dull roar. _Thank goodness for minor miracles_ , he thought. Because now that he wasn’t distracted by work, he was worried enough about how the night might go – especially with this new wrinkle – that he didn’t need anything more to mess with his mind. But Hugh hadn’t done any of the things Paul had been concerned about. He’d accepted the change in the best possible way, and somehow Paul still had a date. One that was “intrigued,” even.

Paul grinned. He could work with “intrigued.”

So now, all he had to worry about was how to actually pull this off.

Because rec room five brought with it some unique challenges.

Fortunately, concrete tasks were Paul’s specialty. He took a minute to build a checklist, then sent another message to Hugh reminding him to dress casually. Then he contacted ship’s stores and the mess hall. Once he had confirmation that he could get what he needed, he showered and shaved (the old-fashioned way) to try to further calm his nerves.

It mostly worked.

He still fidgeted and fussed and changed clothes four times before finally settling on a simple blue tee shirt and tan trousers, but his body limited itself to sweaty palms and butterflies in his stomach. Paul could live with that.

He told himself it was just dinner. That it was casual. That he’d get it right this time.

And then, he tried to do just that. He left forty minutes early. He collected what he needed from the ship’s store and the mess and made his way to rec room five.

Everything was ready with ten minutes to spare, so he sat down in one of the rec room’s chairs to wait for Hugh. He didn’t have to wait long. The door’s entry chime sounded at 18:58.

Paul smiled. Hugh was early. He hoped that was a good sign.

He called out to the door to allow Hugh entrance and the doctor stepped hesitantly into the mostly dark room.

“Paul?” he called out.

Paul stood to greet him and gave him a mock bow.

“Right here,” he said. “May I show you to your table?”

Hugh’s gaze took in the room and then settled on Paul with a quizzical look.

“Sure,” he said, with a bit of a question in his voice.

Paul chuckled.

“Monsieur,” he said, making a grand gesture to the folding chair on one side of a campfire.

Hugh walked past Paul to take the indicated seat, but then he looked back at Paul with an absolutely befuddled expression.

Paul chuckled again as he took his own seat on the opposite side of the fire. As he got comfortable, Hugh spoke again.

“Paul, what is happening?”

Paul’s chuckle turned into a nervous giggle.

“It’s a campfire,” he stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (which to be fair, it was). Then he gestured around the room at the various samples of fauna on display. “In a forest.”

Hugh turned his head to look at Paul out of the side of his eyes. “I can see that,” he said. “I guess I’m just wondering… why?”

“Uh, it’s pretty?” offered Paul.

Hugh nodded. “It is. I just…”

Paul’s loud sigh interrupted Hugh. “Look. I know it’s not our usual style. But it was the only rec room free, and I just… after last time in our quarters…”

Paul trailed off, but Hugh didn’t need more words to understand what Paul was saying.

“I get it,” he said softly, nodding his head slightly.

Paul nodded back. Hugh could see his eyes were shiny, and he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Paul cleared his throat and turned away from him.

“So, anyway,” said Paul, rummaging around in a box Hugh hadn’t noticed, “I have all the staples, and you’re welcome to those if you’d like. I’ve got hot dogs and marshmallows and stuff for s’mores. But, if you’re feeling more adventurous – well, have you ever had _Agaricus bisporus_ grilled over a campfire?”

Paul kissed his fingers and then spread them into the air in a perfect’s chef’s kiss, and Hugh found himself staring at him in wonder. He didn’t even mind the obvious attempt at changing the subject. For his part, Paul just looked at Hugh expectantly.

“Well?” prompted Paul, after a moment went by without Hugh answering.

Hugh blinked. “Well what?”

“You want the crap, or you want my shrooms?”

“Um…”

“The shrooms come with steak,” said Paul, wagging his eyebrows at Hugh.

“You convinced me,” said Hugh, gesturing in a carefree manner toward Paul. “Shrooms it is!”

Paul pumped one fist lightly in celebration.

“Good choice,” he said, turning to dig deeper into the box.

Hugh took the moment to look around again and he quickly determined he was overdressed. Like Paul, he was a tee shirt, but he’d dressed it up with a blazer. He shucked off the jacket and put it over the back of his chair as Paul emerged from the box, holding a long-handed skillet and several cartons.

“So, I guess you meant it when you said casual,” he said.

Paul snorted. “Yeah. Sorry?”

“No, it’s fine,” said Hugh. “It’s… nice.”

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath in and out.

“This is all nice, actually.”

Paul smiled, and though it was hard to tell with only the campfire for light, Hugh could have sworn he saw his cheeks flush pink.

“So, this doesn’t take long,” he said, moving things around on his side of the fire. “You hungry now?”

Hugh nodded.

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Cool,” said Paul, becoming more involved in his tasks. As he turned away from the fire to get something, he called out to Hugh over his shoulder.

“So, how was your day?”

Hugh shrugged.

“Alright, I guess. Long.”

Paul snorted.

“Mine too.”

“I could’ve lived without that emergency appendectomy.”

Paul paused in his preparations to give Hugh a surprised look.

“I thought most everyone got that removed before starship duty these days?”

Hugh pursed his lips.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Right?” agreed Paul. “Did you remember how to do it, at least?”

Hugh reached down, picked up a handful of leaves from the floor of the room (which really did resemble a forest), and threw them at Paul.

Most of them landed in the fire, causing it to flare brighter for a moment.

It illuminated Paul, who used his body to shield his cooking area.

“Hey! Watch the food!”

Hugh held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry,” he said.

Paul shot him a mock glare, then shrugged.

“Not my fault if your food tastes like dirt.”

Hugh laughed as Paul got back to work, doing things Hugh had never seen from him before.

As Hugh watched and chatted amicably with Paul about everything and nothing, some of the items in Paul’s cartons were sliced and wrapped in a foil packet. Others where cubed and dumped into the huge skillet. Spices were added to both and before Hugh could even think to ask what was where or the why of anything, a delicious aroma filled the air. It came from the skillet, which Paul was gently shaking over the fire. As he stirred the contents with a long spoon, Paul nodded to himself.

“Almost ready,” he muttered. Then, to Hugh, he said, “Hey, do me a favor?”

“Yeah, sure,” answered Hugh.

“Grab that set of tongs over there, will you? The long ones?”

He indicated the general area of his box with his head. Hugh got up and found the tongs in question.

“These?”

Paul looked up from the fire.

“Yep. Now, take that foil pack and hold it over the fire with the tongs.”

“You want me to do it?”

“Well, I’ve got my hands full with this,” said Paul, nodding toward the skillet. “And someone’s got to do it.”

Hugh looked unsure.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

Paul gave him a look.

“You’re telling me you’ll cut open a human body, but you’re scared to hold some mushrooms over a fire?”

“I don’t want to mess them up.”

“You’ll be fine. I know you can cook.”

“This is different.”

“It really isn’t. Now hurry up,” said Paul, again motioning with his head toward the fire. “Or they won’t be ready on time.”

Hugh did has he was told, albeit reluctantly. Then he turned the packet over when instructed. And finally, he removed it from the fire just as Paul took the skillet away from the flames and put it on a rack he’d set up nearby.

“Okay,” said Paul. “Give me that.”

Hugh set the packet next to the skillet using the tongs and Paul opened it using smaller tongs. Then he dumped the contents of the packet into the skillet and stirred everything together. Then it was back to the fire for Paul and his skillet as Hugh settled back into his chair.

After only a few minutes, Paul pulled the skillet back out of the fire.

“All done,” he announced. He stirred the contents of the skillet a few times, then parceled them out onto two plates along with two slices of bread. He handed one plate to Hugh, along with a bottle of water.

“Dinner is served,” he said, affecting an abbreviated bow and a silly accent.

Hugh laughed and took his plate and drink. He waited for Paul to get settled with his own food, then took an experimental first bite of the mixture of steak, mushrooms, and spices on his plate.

Paul watched him, waiting for a reaction.

“Good?”

Hugh’s eyes grew wide. “It’s amazing!”

Paul lit up, and this time, Hugh was sure he saw him blush. Hugh took another bite, and Paul started in on his plate, too.

The next few moments were silent save for the scraping of utensils on plates and the crackling of the fire. Hugh finished his food first and leaned back to watch Paul as he swirled his last mushroom around his plate, catching the remnants of greases and spices there. When he popped it in his mouth, his eyes rolled back in an expression that was nearly obscene.

Hugh’s heart rate sped up a little at that, and as Paul licked his lips after he swallowed, it accelerated further. Fortunately for Hugh, Paul didn’t notice the effect of his actions.

“Mmmm,” he sighed, eyes closed. “So good. Told you you’d be fine.”

Hugh chuckled, thankful for something other than Paul to focus on.

“Hey, I just followed orders,” he said. “You did all the work.”

Paul shrugged, opening his eyes and giving Hugh a playful smirk.

“Yeah, well, it’s all in the spices.”

Hugh laughed. “No argument here. Still,” he said, placing a hand on his chest dramatically, “I’m honored you’d trust me with your children.”

Paul looked confused for half a second, then leveled a deadly serious look at Hugh.

“Only the ones I’d already killed and was planning to eat,” he deadpanned.

Then he burst out laughing, and Hugh joined him.

When they settled down a while later, Paul again grew serious.

“Hey, Hugh?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t tell Stella about this, okay?”

Paul’s reference to his mistress, _Prototaxites stellaviatori_ , set off another round of laughter.

When this one died down, it was Hugh who spoke first. He held up one hand in a pledge position.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he vowed.

Paul sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Thank you. You know how she can be.”

“That I do,” said Hugh, chuckling. Then it was his turn to get serious. “But speaking of secrets, what gives?”

Paul tilted his head sideways at Hugh as eyebrows scrunched up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Hugh gestured at the real forest in the artificial room, then at the campfire and the remains of their meal. “This. You. How do you know all this?”

Paul’s expression didn’t change. He blinked a few times, then finally managed an answer.

“You do know that astromycologist contains the word mycologist, right?”

“And?” prompted Hugh, his expression now similar to Paul’s.

Paul’s look turned a little disbelieving.

“And most fungi live in the dirt? And you know I grew up planetside?”

His voice was a little patronizing, but Hugh didn’t seem to notice.

“But still…this was a lot, Paul. I had no idea.”

Paul smirked. “No idea that studying things in the dirt was how I got through every miserable camping trip my parents forced on me as a kid?”

“Yeah,” said Hugh, nodding. “That, I guess.”

“And that I learned to cook over a campfire so I wouldn’t have to eat whatever the hell a ‘hot dog’ is?”

“That too.”

Paul hummed the tiniest response, and his expression grew thoughtful, but he didn’t say anything more. He just stared into the fire for a moment.

“What?” Hugh finally asked.

Paul looked up at him and smiled the softest smile Hugh had seen on him in ages. “It’s just.. well, I’m not sure how that never came up before, but… I guess you don’t know everything about me.”

“No,” came Hugh’s immediate reply, “but I’d like to.”

He held Paul’s eyes with an intensity that was matched only by the hope on Paul’s face. When Paul spoke, his voice was a whisper.

“You mean it?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Hugh, maintaining eye contact.

Paul stared back for a moment, then took a shaky breath and spoke again.

“Monday night?” he asked, with the smallest shrug. “Maybe even a regular thing?”

Hugh beamed, all white teeth and shiny eyes in the dark.

“Yeah. I could do that.”

“Yeah,” breathed Paul. “Okay.”

Hugh noticed Paul was trembling a little. He was about to say something about it when the fire popped loudly and startled them both. They both jerked upright before settling back into their chairs, but Paul remained there only a second.

“So,” he drawled, fishing around in his box again, “room for desert?”

Hugh was a bit disoriented at the sudden change in subject, but managed a response.

“Sure?”

Paul grinned.

“Good. Because s’mores are amazing. Especially with dark chocolate. The darker the better. None of this milk chocolate crap. I mean, seriously. You need the bitter to offset the sweet of the marshmallow.”

Paul was still rummaging in the box, and Hugh smirked in the dark. Because only Paul Stamets could make s’mores sound like a gourmet dessert.

But ten minutes later, his smirk was gone, because Hugh had to admit Paul was right. S’mores with dark chocolate were amazing – just like the rest of his fireside chat with Paul, which only ended when the computer threatened them with fire suppression measures after reminding them that open fires were only allowed for a limited time, even in designated areas with proper ventilation systems.

Paul walked him home after that, and the night officially ended with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

As Paul turned to leave, Hugh called after him.

“So, Monday, then?”

Paul turned and smiled over his shoulder, meeting Hugh’s eyes.

“Monday, dear doctor.”

He held Hugh’s gaze for a moment, then turned and walked away.

Hugh watched him go, then slipped into his quarters wearing a huge smile.

When Paul reached his door a short time later, his face looked much the same.

And neither man would get much sleep that night, but that was to be expected.

After all, amazing first dates had a way of doing that.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Agaricus bisporus_ is also known as the button mushroom, the cremini mushroom, or the Portobello (Portabella? *grin*) mushroom, depending on its stage of maturity. I’ll let you choose which is served here. And everyone knows _Prototaxites stellaviatori_ makes the world go round, right? Or at least crossfield-class starships? *bigger grin*


End file.
